


the most important reason (i'm a lost cause, don't you know?)

by burnthehousedown



Category: Nurse Jackie (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, F/F, I AM SORRY, So much angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-05-20 16:32:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6016645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burnthehousedown/pseuds/burnthehousedown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lifting her gaze to look at her friend’s back, O’Hara waits, and realises she’s forgotten to breathe. Taking in a shuddering breath, she watches Jackie keep moving towards the kitchen, hears plates clatter as they’re placed not-so-gently in the sink, and doesn’t say another word to Jackie as she helps the girls bring in the desert plates and they make their way through ice cream and pie. Clearly this isn’t something that is going to be discussed now. O’Hara wonders how much longer she’ll have the chance to bring anything up with the blonde.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So! I know there's a serious dearth of fic in this particular fandom, but I'm hoping that doesn't mean that literally no one will read this or care about it. I just miss the show so much, and I'm still pretty sore about Jackie and O'Hara not ending up together, as much as I appreciate that the writers couldn't give Jackie a neat happy ending like that. In my fantasy world where everything works out okay, Jackie and O'Hara are just chilling in London or New York, raising their kids together and just generally being two radiant, sarcastic angels that complement each other perfectly. Anyway, I'd love to hear your thoughts or just general rants about the show, and apologies in advance if this ends up being 95% angst, I honestly cannot help myself. Thanks for reading! :)

It was the same story every year. Jackie would fly out with the girls to visit – Kevin was out of the picture by the time she moved back to London – and they would have a fantastic time. Fiona and Grace were both wonderful with the baby from the start, and now that he’s walking and talking and eating solid food, they’re even more enthralled. It probably helps that he idolises them both. But even with all that joy, and seeing the girls again, and seeing Jackie…every time, it’s there. It was a good six months after she left the States before she flew the three of them out for the first time – and, to be fair, she had no idea what went on during that time – but when Jackie stepped off that plane, she just knew. It had happened. Maybe she’d lasted a month on her own, maybe two, maybe five. But she was using again. And the first thought that flew through O’Hara’s mind was: _It must have been my fault._

And then she felt terrible. Because of _course_  she places that much importance on her role in Jackie’s life. Of course she’s willing to convince herself that she means everything to Jackie, that she’s the be-all and end-all to her sobriety. Her happiness. If anyone’s narcissistic enough to paint themselves in that light, it’s her. And with that darkness creeping over her, she ran to hug her friend. And began pretending – like she had for so long, like she had _perfected_  to a fault – that everything was okay.

That was three years ago. And now, on their fourth visit, O’Hara wonders how much longer she can possibly hold herself – hold everything – together.

They’re all sitting around the table, eating dinner, when Jackie excuses herself and promptly leaves the room, heading down the hallway towards the guest bedroom she’s sleeping in. Eleanor sighs, quickly focussing her attention back on the children and adopting a smile that’s only slightly forced before they notice something is up. Fiona seems purposefully oblivious, while Grace seems to be resigned to the fact that this is the way things are. She isn’t going to let her mother’s problems become her problems. Thank God. In any case, they both feel comfortable confiding in her, and O’Hara can’t help being grateful for that. They need someone to talk to, even if that someone can’t be Jackie.

“I think we’re ready for desert,” the doctor says when Jackie reappears in the dining room. “Fiona, Grace, do you two want to go slice some pie for us and get some ice cream out of the freezer?”

The girls both get up from the table and head to the kitchen, probably just as eager to get away from the conversation that’s about to happen as they are for apple pie. Eleanor meets Jackie’s gaze, both daring each other to be the first to ruin the night, but before the brunette can say anything, Jackie is clearing the dinner plates from the table as noisily as she can.

“What are you doing?” O’Hara finally utters, trying and failing miserably to instil some ire in her voice.

“What, I’m not clearing the table the right way? Do you want to take over?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I really don’t.”

Eleanor looks down at the napkin in her lap, and twists it slowly, trying to figure out what she should do next. If there’s anything she _can_  do.

When she hears Jackie turn and start to walk away, she speaks up, causing the blonde to stop in her tracks. “Is it working?” When she doesn’t hear more footsteps or receive a reply, she goes on. “Are you happy?”

Lifting her gaze to look at her friend’s back, O’Hara waits, and realises she’s forgotten to breathe. Taking in a shuddering breath, she watches Jackie keep moving towards the kitchen, hears plates clatter as they’re placed not-so-gently in the sink, and doesn’t say another word to Jackie as she helps the girls bring in the desert plates and they make their way through ice cream and pie. Clearly this isn’t something that is going to be discussed now. O’Hara wonders how much longer she’ll have the chance to bring anything up with the blonde.

*               *               *               *               *

An hour or so later, after they’ve cleaned up the dishes in tentative peace, put Eleanor’s son to bed, and had a couple of rounds of Hearts, the girls announce that they’re getting tired and are going to head to bed. Eleanor’s stomach sinks at the news, realising she’s either going to have to run off to her room herself now or face Jackie, and the almost-mortified look on the blonde’s face doesn’t help her state of mind at all. She gives the girls a warm smile as they say goodnight, and tries to steady her breathing while she watches them walk down the hallway to their shared bedroom before she returns her gaze to the woman sitting opposite her. After a moment, Jackie looking anywhere but at the brunette, Eleanor breaks the silence.

“You haven’t ruined them, you know.” The words finally get Jackie to meet her gaze, but her expression is unreadable. “They’re fine. But you aren’t.” There’s something painful in her voice, she doesn’t like it at all, and she’s slightly terrified that she’s going to start crying before she can say anything else.

“What makes you think that I’m not fine?”

The brunette looks up at the ceiling, not quite sure she can go through this again. Not sure that she can even start. “Don’t do this to yourself, Jacks,” she says, lowering her gaze to plead with the blonde. “Don’t do this to me.” It’s little more than a whisper, but it’s enough to set the other woman off.

“This has nothing to do with you! It’s not – ” the blonde seems to be fighting the urge to stand up and start pacing around the room, but she stays where she is. “I’m sick of feeling like everything I do has to be for someone else. Like nothing is up to me. Nothing at all. It’s my life, and I’m fine, and I don’t see why you can’t just leave me alone!”

“When have I brought this up before? Since I left?” Eleanor tries to reason with her. “I should have, but that’s not the point. I left it alone. I left _you_  alone.”

“Then why stop now?”

“You have no idea how much it hurts me to see you like this, Jackie.” The brunette wraps her arms around herself, like it’s the only thing holding her together. She inhales a shaky breath. “It’s like torture.”

“I’m sorry,” Jackie says after a moment, almost inaudible. “But I’ve tried. You’ve seen me try. And it didn’t work. I just can’t, so…I’m sorry. But I wish you would let it go.”

“And watch you destroy your life? Watch this eat away at you until there’s nothing left?”

“Well, it seems like there isn’t a whole lot left now.” Jackie imagines she sees a flash of hurt in the brunette’s eyes, but she pushes ahead, trying to ignore it. “I’m doing fine, I swear. If it were bad, I would come to you. You know that.”

“Do I?” O’Hara’s never been one to mince words, but her curtness, the iciness of her stare, seems to cut especially deep, regardless. Jackie doesn’t know what she wants her to say. Anything she could have done to fix this – to fix them – disappeared a long time ago. That’s what she believes, even if it hurts her to think it.

Taking a shuddering breath, Jackie braces herself for what she knows is inevitable. People don’t stick around. Not for her. And she shouldn’t expect them to. But that means she has to leave first, always. “Look, I know I’m failing. I'm a failure. But it’s the best I can do, and you still expect more. So, clearly, I’m not good enough. For this. Or for you. We’re here now, so I’m sorry we can’t just pick up and leave. But the girls and I can be gone in a couple of days. I’ll…I’ll pay you back the airfares for this trip. You shouldn’t have to do that. Not now, anyway.”

Jackie’s looking down at the table now, but when all she receives from O’Hara is silence, she lifts her gaze to try to decipher what the brunette is thinking. What her next move should be. But what she sees are tear-filled eyes, a face usually so tranquil scrunched up in an attempt to stave off what must be impending sobs.

“Eleanor – ”

“No, you’re right. It’s probably best if you go. I can’t…I just can’t go through this anymore. Having you think you’re not good enough, not good enough for me or for the life you have. You are, Jacks. But there are only so many times I can tell you that before I realise you’re not listening to me at all. And that hurts, you know. I’m hurting, too.”

“I’m sorry,” Jackie says again, standing up, at a loss of what more she can do to make this any better. After a moment of heavy silence, though, she returns to anger, not sure what else she has to use as a defence. “But you know what? This isn’t on me. I’m doing the best I can. I _did_  the best I could, after you left. You were the one who left, Eleanor. What else did you expect to happen?”

“I _expected_  you to see that you had more reasons than _me_  to stay sober, _Jackie_.” The brunette’s words are biting, but she can’t bring herself to feel bad about that when she looks up at her friend – the woman who was once her only friend – and sees nothing resembling guilt in her expression.

“You were always the most important reason,” the blonde replies, refusing to drop her gaze. “I thought you knew that.” And with that, she turned and headed down the hallway to her room, to God knows what amount of pills hidden in toiletries bags and side pockets and boxes of breath mints. Eleanor tried not to think about what Jackie’s parting words meant for her daughters. Or for her, for that matter.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A conversation between O'Hara and Fiona, the morning after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow okay, I am so, so sorry for not updating this in a million years. I really hope some of you are still reading, or will start reading now that I'm actually getting back to this story, and with any luck, there'll be another chapter (or two) to finish off the story within the week! Thank you for reading, and any feedback at all is always appreciated.

The next morning, Eleanor woke up with one of those horrible piercing-headache hangovers that can ambush you even when you don’t finish a full bottle of wine the night before. She ambled haphazardly down the hallway in some slippers, her daggiest pyjamas, and an oversized bathrobe before she realised that Fiona was already sitting at the kitchen bench, reading a magazine that Eleanor must have left lying around and working her way through a bowl of cereal.

_Children don’t develop an infatuation with sleeping in until they’re well into their teens. Right. I really must remember that._

O’Hara spooned some pre-ground beans into the coffee pot by the sink and turned it on before sitting down across from Fiona, hoping that her hangover wasn’t as apparent to the ten (or something)-year-old as it was to her. 

“How’d you sleep?” she asked her best friend’s youngest daughter.

“Fine,” the young girl replied, only briefly glancing up from the magazine next to her. “But Grace snores. A lot.”

Doing her best to stifle a laugh, Eleanor went on, gesturing to the magazine, “You know that stuff will rot your brain. I can give you some Kafka or Tennessee Williams to take on the plane.”

Fiona finally looked up at that, directing a suspicious look at the woman across from her. “We’re leaving already? I thought we were here for at least another week, until after Christmas.” 

 _Shit._ Eleanor had not expected to stumble into this conversation so soon. _Stupid hangover._

“Well, your mother and I…I think it would be in everyone’s best interests if you didn’t stay here with me for the rest of your trip. I really want you to,” the brunette quickly added, seeing the almost crestfallen look on Fiona’s face, “but I just don’t want there to be any more fights - not at this time of the year. And your mother seems to think that I’ve asked her to flee the country, so we’ll have to deal with that at some point.” 

“You know she likes you, right?” Fiona asked, her most piercing gaze being aimed at the brunette. _A child should not have those kinds of perceptive skills_ , the doctor thought.

“I know, love. I know it’s just how she reacts sometimes - how the words come out, when she lets them.”

“No, I mean - she likes you more than anyone else.” There’s a brief pause before Fiona adds, “More than us. I’m sure of it.”

Now it was the brunette’s turn to have her expression completely shatter. “Oh, Fiona. No. That’s not true at all. There is no one your mother could love more than you and your sister.”

But Fiona was not going to be convinced by O’Hara’s reassurances. “Just ask her. Seriously - what it comes down to for her is what she means to you. So if she thinks she doesn’t mean anything to you, that’s probably going to destroy her.” 

Eleanor sat with those words for a moment, willing her heart to slow and her breathing to calm. She could do this. She knew how to comfort a ten-year-old girl - maybe not how to make it okay that her mother was a drug addict and her parents were never getting back together, but still. She could handle this.

Taking a sip of her coffee - black, with just half a spoonful of sugar - the brunette did the best she could to collect her thoughts and met Fiona’s gaze with steady eyes before she said anything (and hoped that Fiona didn’t notice that her hands weren’t so steady).

“Fiona,” the doctor began, wondering when her life had become this series of weighty, impossible conversations, “your mother loves you, more than anyone or anything else in the world. And nothing that happens to her and nothing that she does will ever change that. Okay? Do you understand?” 

Sighing quietly as she picked up her cereal bowl and carried it over to the sink, Fiona acquiesced, “I guess if that’s what you believe, it’s probably true. You know her better than any of us.”

Before the doctor could respond, Fiona turned around and leaned against the sink, fixing the brunette with a serious gaze as she said, “You should really talk to her. Whatever’s wrong - it’s not going to get better unless you two talk about it.”

“Okay,” was all O’Hara could manage, trying to contain the sadness she felt at all the things that had forced Fiona to grow up far too quickly - at how wrong she had been to think that the youngest Peyton was completely oblivious to her mother’s incessant struggles.

“I’m just really tired,” Fiona confessed, finally lowering her gaze and fiddling with the hem of her sweatshirt before she went on. “So please just talk to Mom. And don’t do your usual _I’m far too cool to feel emotions_ thing. She needs to hear something true. And she needs to know that you care about her, too. Okay?”

The brunette uttered a soft, “Oh, Fi,” when the girl’s wide eyes lifted to meet hers again, but anything else she was planning to say was cut off by the sound of small feet pattering down the hall.

“Mom?” They heard the soft voice before O’Hara’s son appeared in the kitchen doorway.

“Hello, sweetie. Do you want some breakfast?” As helpless as she felt, Eleanor had come to learn that no darkness could overshadow the joy that her son brought into her life. Everything else could be pushed aside, for him. “How about some cereal, Henry? Coco Puffs, for a special treat?” Receiving an enthusiastic nod from the curly-haired boy, O’Hara went to retrieve a bowl and a spoon. Once Henry was settled in front of the television, watching some Saturday morning cartoons, Eleanor turned back to Fiona, who was still standing at the edge of the kitchen, having watched Eleanor and Henry go through their morning routine with a small smile on her face.

“Fi,” the brunette ventured again, but she was interrupted by the young girl before she could get any further.

“I wish we’d had that - the attention you give Henry, how he’s everything to you.”

O’Hara wanted to say a lot of things in that moment: that Fiona _was_ everything to Jackie, along with Grace; that she still deserved better from her mother; that Eleanor wasn’t perfect herself - not by a long shot. But she knew that none of these things would truly be what Fiona needed. And she didn’t want to be yet another disappointment to the young girl.

“Why don’t we visit the Eye today, do something totally _bourgeois_ and touristy?”

Fiona looked at her askance for a moment, but eventually a small smile spread across her face. “Sure. That would be fun.”

“Go wake up your sister, then. We’ll have to go soon if we want to make it to the front of the line before the ride closes for the day. You’ll get the proper experience of dealing with the London masses.”

Letting out a dramatic sigh, Fiona agreed. “Fine. But if she kills me you’ll have to take responsibility. She was up until two in the morning, texting her boyfriend back home. It’s sad, really.”

Failing to stifle a snicker, O’Hara made to shoo Fiona out of the kitchen. “You’ll be fine. Just tell her there’s a shopping trip in it for her if she manages to be up and dressed in less than half an hour.”

“Is Mom coming?” Fiona turned to ask the brunette, just as she was leaving the kitchen. “I mean, should I wake her up to tell her where we’re going? She might worry.”

Unsure of what her answer should be, Eleanor took what seemed like the easiest way out. “No, don’t worry. I’ll write her a note so she knows where we are.”

“Okay,” Fiona agreed, somewhat hesitantly. But she turned and headed down the hallway to the room where she and Grace were sleeping, and really, was there a right answer in this situation? Anything that O’Hara could do to even begin to fix the damage that had been done to this family, to her friendship? It certainly didn’t seem like there was. But the sun was shining, despite the cold, and Christmas carols were blaring from every department store in the city, and Eleanor was damn well going to do what she could, even if it wasn’t even close to enough.


End file.
